By the time the promotional presentation ended, Skye’s head was throbbing and she leaned weakly against the wall. If Rex Taylor had his way, Scumble River would become nothing more than a hokey tourist trap with vacationers clogging the streets and crowding the stores. The laid-back small-town feeling that she had come to appreciate would be gone forever, and in its place would be her idea of a nightmare.
Skye glanced around the room, gauging the reaction of the attendees. They seemed to be split into two factions—some frowning, shaking their heads, and whispering furiously to their neighbors, and the others smiling and taking notes. She prayed fervently that the negative group would be the more influential.
Rex rose from the seat he had taken during the program. “You have probably been wondering why you were invited here today. What do I want from you? Nothing. I’m here to give you something. The once-in-a-lifetime chance to make a fortune.” He pointed to Dante. “Your mayor and city council took the first step in guiding this town to financial security when they approved the country music theater complex I’m building. Now it’s up to you to follow their lead and invest in Scumble River’s future.”
Dante beamed and folded his hands over his considerable stomach.
“This is your opportunity to cash in on all the tourists I’ll be bringing into the area with my theater,” Rex continued. “I’ve already arranged for several country music stars to perform here, and for numerous travel companies to schedule their buses to stop here during the summer vacation season.”
Skye flinched. Oh, oh! Now even some of the frown-ers looked interested.
“I’ll be making appointments to talk to each and every one of you privately in order to advise you about the types of businesses you might want to open that would attract sightseers.” Rex made eye contact with everyone present before saying, “The first ones on the gravy train will make the most money. Make sure you’re not one of the people who only catches the caboose.”
All around the room, voices were raised and arguments erupted. Two men were already on their feet, fists clenched. Skye started to go into the office, but stopped in her tracks. There was nothing she could do or say to influence anyone’s opinion. Her uncle was obviously in full cahoots with Rex. The outcome of the music promoter’s plans was completely out of her hands. Skye’s only hope was that the people in the room who hadn’t drunk Rex’s Kool-Aid would continue to abstain.
Discouraged, she went to find Wally. The brunch he had in mind had better offer something stronger than champagne.
For once, I-55 wasn’t under construction, and it was a pleasant drive north to the restaurant Wally had chosen. He entertained Skye with stories about some of the funnier arrests from the previous night’s drunken revelries, and she, in turn, filled him in on the scenes she had witnessed on the way to the parking lot.
When they reached I-355 and the more intense traffic, Wally grew quiet, fully focused on the highway. He handled his car, a sky blue Thunderbird convertible that had been a fortieth-birthday gift from his wealthy father, with calm confidence.
Skye gazed at Wally’s handsome profile, lost in her own thoughts. She needed to talk to him about Suzette and the meeting she had witnessed in Dante’s office, but didn’t want to distract Wally from the road, so she remained quiet until they arrived at the restaurant.
The Clubhouse was located next to Oak Brook Mall, a fashionable shopping area on the outskirts of Chicago. The two-story redbrick building sported a bright green roof and black-and-beige-striped awnings.
As Wally pulled up to the valet stand and turned over his keys, he said to Skye, “I hope you’re hungry. I hear they have a spectacular brunch here.”
“Great. I’m starving.” Skye waited until he came around to open her door, then took his arm. “I slept in this morning, and didn’t have time to eat anything before church.”
“Did Bingo shut off the alarm again?” Wally asked as they strolled into the restaurant.
“No. I just got to bed so late last night that I couldn’t wake up.” Skye noticed the hostess waiting for Wally to claim their reservation. “Let’s get our table; then I’ll tell you all about it.”
The woman led them up a dramatic sweeping staircase, over a beautiful floor of dark and light wood in a checkerboard design, and to a half-moon area one step up from the rest of the room. On their way they passed several massive buffet tables loaded with everything from eggs Benedict to petits fours.
The hostess showed them to a secluded table covered in a pristine white tablecloth and laid with intricately folded napkins, gleaming silver, and sparkling crystal. She waited until they were seated side by side on the leather banquette, then handed Wally the wine list and gestured to their server, who was standing nearby.
Once their drink orders were taken, Wally turned to Skye. “What kept you up past your bedtime?”
“Not what, who. Suzette Neal.”
“The girl singer from the concert.” Wally wrinkled his forehead. “What did she want?”
“Me to solve a murder.”
“What?” Wally cocked a dark brow. “Someone was killed and no one told me?”
“Yeah, right.” Skye chuckled. “No, this happened before you joined the police force.”
“Well, that’s a load off my mind.” Wally pretended to slump in relief. “A cold case.”
They were silent as the server put their drinks in front of them and told them about the brunch.
After he left, Skye said, “Let’s get our first course; then I’ll tell you the rest.”
“Okay.” Wally grinned. “I know a hungry fiancée is a cranky fiancée.”
“You always say that, and it’s always not funny.” Skye slid from the booth and marched toward the seafood bar. Moments later they were back at the table with heaping plates full of spicy shrimp, boiled crab claws, and smoked salmon on toast points spread with cream cheese and topped with capers.
Before digging in, Wally asked, “Why did Suzette come to you?”
Between bites, Skye explained about the mysterious person who had told Suzette that Skye was the Scumble River Nancy Drew, ending with, “Of course, anyone who reads the paper could be the one who called me that.”
“Yep.” Wally licked a bit of cocktail sauce from his finger. “So tell me about the murder.”
Skye took a swallow of her mimosa, then told him about Suzette’s mother. When she finished, she narrowed her eyes and said, “Tell me the truth. You probably think I shouldn’t agree to do it.”
“I don’t see any reason not to take the case. If it seemed like a plausible accident, there wouldn’t have been an autopsy or much investigation.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “And I knew when we started dating that you weren’t the kind of person who could turn down a request for help.”
“You are so sweet.” Skye couldn’t stop herself from comparing Wally to her ex-boyfriend Simon Reid, who would have blown a gasket if she had told him she was going to nose around in something that wasn’t any of her business. “Have I told you lately how much I love and appreciate you?”
“Not today.” Wally gave her a one-armed hug and kiss that promised more when they were alone.
CHAPTER 6
“Harper Valley PTA”
Mmm. Skye sighed contentedly and snuggled between the smooth cotton sheets. Struggling not to wake up, she kept her eyes closed and reveled in the touch of Wally’s strong fingers on her body. She felt a twinge of disappointment when his hands withdrew, then shivered when she felt the warmth of his breath on her ear.
Wally’s lips brushed hers, a teasing promise that finally forced Skye fully awake. His brown eyes sizzled with heat that burned through her core, and she moaned. Immediately his mouth covered hers and he pulled her hard against him.
After they made love, they fell back asleep, and the next thing Skye knew, sunlight was pouring through the gap in the drapes. She checked the clock on the nightstand. Crap! It was ten after seven. She had exactly twenty minutes to
get dressed, drive to school, and sign in before she was officially late.
She nudged Wally awake, leaped from the bed, and sprinted into the bathroom, shouting over her shoulder, “I thought you said you set the alarm.”
Her shriek as she stepped into the cold shower drowned out his reply. Five minutes later, when she rushed back into the bedroom, Wally had disappeared. Grateful that she now kept some clothes at Wally’s house, she pulled on an aqua blouse and a black twill pantsuit, then shoved her feet into black loafers. With a quick glance in the mirror, she twisted her damp hair into a knot on the top of her head. There was no time to do her face or have breakfast, and the enticing aroma of brewing coffee nearly made her whimper with frustration.
Dashing through the kitchen, Skye thrust her hand into her tote bag, searching for her keys. Thank goodness they had picked up her car and parked it at Wally’s house after returning from Oak Brook.
Wally tried to hand her a commuter cup as she ran by, but she was moving too fast to grab it. He called after her, “Sorry about the alarm. Maybe I turned it off in my sleep.”
“Whatever,” Skye muttered. She had other things to worry about right now. Like the three principals evaluating her performance. And at the moment, she couldn’t remember if she was supposed to be at the grade school or high school first. Luckily the two buildings were close.
While she drove in their general direction, she flipped through her calendar and discovered she was due at the elementary. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her first appointment wasn’t until eight.
Skye squealed into the parking lot at seven twenty-seven, took the first available spot, bolted out of the Chevy, and jogged to the entrance. Using her key, she let herself in and made a beeline for the office. As she signed the attendance book, she checked the clock. Seven thirty on the dot.
Phew! That was close. Caroline Greer was the nicest of the three principals Skye worked for, but she would definitely be upset if there was a problem she needed the school psychologist for and Skye wasn’t available.
Though Caroline was the nicest principal, she had provided the worst office space for Skye. It had started out as a storage room for the dairy refrigerator and other cafeteria supplies, and still smelled like sour milk.
After unlocking the door, Skye squeezed past the pair of folding chairs occupying two-thirds of the floor space, edged behind her desk, and settled into her seat. She rummaged in her tote bag until she found her makeup case, then hastily applied a dusting of bronzer, a couple coats of mascara, and pale peach lip gloss.
Checking her watch, she saw she didn’t have time to get a cup of coffee before her consultation with the PE teacher, so she tucked her purse into the drawer and pulled out the teacher’s file. Skye’s body cried out for caffeine. She sighed. The day hadn’t even started and she already felt stressed. Which was exactly why she hated running late.
Considering that the gym teacher didn’t like Skye, and didn’t agree with the educational philosophy she was urging him to follow, the discussion went well. They were just finishing up when there was a knock on the door.
Skye frowned but called out, “Yes?” She had the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the knob—not that it ever stopped anyone from interrupting her.
Fern Otte, the school secretary, poked her head inside. The tiny wrenlike woman’s feathers were visibly ruffled and she twittered, “Ms. Denison, Mrs. Greer needs you at the PTO meeting immediately.”
“Okay.” Skye rose from her seat, said good-bye to the PE teacher, and asked Fern where the meeting was being held.
“The gym.” Fern turned to go, saying over her shoulder, “Hurry.”
Passing a row of windows on her way to the gymnasium, Skye glanced outside. The sun was already beating off the asphalt. More unusually high temperatures were predicted for that afternoon along with a thunderstorm, and she was thankful she was scheduled to spend the afternoon in the air-conditioned high school.
Caroline Greer greeted her at the door of the gym. “An unusual situation, I’m afraid.”
Skye heard two arguing female voices as she eased inside. She surveyed the assemblage. A dozen or so women in their late twenties and early thirties sat around a couple of long tables ina T formation. Several of them gave the impression they were about to make a run for freedom.
At the center of the T, two women stood toe-to-toe yelling at each another. The tiny blonde was Skye’s cousin Ginger Leofanti, president of the PTO. The brunette facing off with Ginger was Theresa Dugan, one of the teachers. What in the world had set Theresa off? She was generally calm and good-natured.
Skye had been trying to figure out why the principal had summoned her. Caroline preferred to handle most matters by herself, usually calling on Skye only if she needed specific special education information. Now she knew. Caroline couldn’t afford to offend the PTO president, but she also didn’t want to take sides against her own employee. She was undoubtedly hoping Skye could either resolve the situation peacefully or shoulder the blame.
“What’s going on?” Skye whispered to Caroline. It was hard to tell what the disagreement was about since the women were currently stuck in a round of Did toos and Uh-huhs.
“Branson of Illinois,” Caroline answered, then edged toward the exit. As she hurried from the room, she said, “I’m sure you can smooth things over. Let me know when you’ve got this under control.”
“Wait!” Skye called after the principal, but the door had already clicked shut.
Suddenly the shouting behind Skye increased in volume, and she whirled around. The remaining women had left their seats and chosen sides.
“Everyone”—Theresa put up her hand, palm toward Ginger, and said—“calm down.”
“Have you ever noticed,” Ginger said, playing to the crowd, “that the person who tells you to calm down is the one who riled you up to start with?”
Several of the women nodded and someone shouted, “Yeah, it’s always the ones who think they’re better than everyone else.”
“Ladies, that isn’t the case at all,” Theresa appealed to her faction. “You all know I’m not like that.”
“Well, if you didn’t have such a cushy job with a guaranteed salary and benefits, you’d see how wonderful Mr. Taylor’s plans are.” Ginger poked the teacher in the middle of her chest with a stubby fuchsia fingernail. “As long as people keep popping out kids, you don’t have to worry about unemployment.”
Cushy job? Teaching? Skye always suspected her cousin wasn’t the sharpest eyebrow pencil in the makeup case, but now she had proof. Ginger wouldn’t last a day in front of a classroom.
“And if you weren’t such a selfish, greedy fool, you’d admit what his scheme would do to our town.” Theresa fluffed her short curls. “That awful man is going to turn Scumble River into a cheap tourist trap with traffic jams, tattoo parlors, and pawnshops.”
“You’re just jealous he was flirting with me yesterday after church and not you.”
Theresa’s shrewd brown gaze pinned Ginger. “What has he offered you?”
“None of your beeswax.” Ginger stamped her purple-flip-flop-shod foot on the hardwood floor. “This isn’t about just me.”
“Of course it is.” Theresa smoothed her pale yellow shirtdress. “Let me guess . . .” She tapped a finger on her lower lip. “A construction job for that lowlife husband of yours. I heard he’d been fired—again.”
“That’s a lie!” Ginger’s voice rose to a high, squeaky pitch that made Skye want to cover her ears. “Flip was not fired. The company went under. He was one of the last to go.” She appealed to her supporters. “You all know that things are so bad around here, the bank is sending out loan applications with REJECTED already stamped across them.”
A few women tittered sympathetically, and Theresa hurriedly said, “Tough times never last, but tough people do.”
“That’s just BS you read on a T-shirt.” Ginger’s voice rose in anger. “If you weren’t dumb as a post, you’d realize how stup
id you sound.”
Skye knew she had to stop the women, but while she was trying to figure out how, the battle continued.
“Really?” Theresa’s eyes glittered with malice. “You know, I wasn’t going to mention this, but your son Bert did a good job in the spelling bee we had last week.”
Skye tensed at the abrupt change of subject. What was Theresa up to?
“Oh?” Ginger’s expression was wary. “He didn’t mention that.”
“Yes.” Theresa’s tone was saccharine. “The winning word was straight, and after he spelled it correctly, I asked him what it meant.” She paused, letting the drama build. “And he said, ‘Jim Beam without water.’”
It took a few seconds, but once they got the joke everyone laughed, and Ginger sputtered, “You just made that up.”
“Maybe.” Theresa smirked. “And maybe the reason Flip has so much trouble keeping a job has more to do with his whiskey consumption and less to do with the economy.”
“That’s not true,” Ginger protested. “Flip only drinks beer.”
“Beer, whiskey, whatever,” Theresa said with condescending indifference. “A drunk by any other name is still a—”
Before the teacher could finish, Ginger lunged forward and slapped her. Theresa looked stunned as a bright red handprint appeared on her cheek. A nanosecond later, she grabbed a handful of Ginger’s blouse and hauled the tiny woman toward her.
The sound of tearing fabric galvanized Skye into action, and she stepped toward the two brawlers, raising her voice. “Ladies!”
No one seemed to hear her.
“Ladies!” Skye shouted, then put two fingers between her lips and whistled.
Murder of a Creped Suzette Page 5
